


Darkness

by Sile001



Series: Outlander - Jamie and Claire [2]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: AU, Ardsmuir, Departure from Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7136288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sile001/pseuds/Sile001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie Fraser is incarcerated in Ardsmuir Prison. The new Governor, Lord John Grey, has surprising news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness

_’Darkness hides much, but also reveals more.’_

So Jamie Fraser mused as he shifted his cramped position in the cell at Ardsmuir. Some days previously he’d been taken from the communal cell which housed fellow Jacobites and placed in isolation. He could not but wonder whether he was about to reach the end of his earthly journey.  
‘At least I shall ha’ the rats to bid me farewell. No doubt the new governor, whoever he is, wants to tidy the place up.’

He winced as the manacles chafed the already raw and bleeding skin of his wrists and ankles. His joints and muscles ached from the constraints imposed by too-short chains which affixed the manacles - and him - to the wall.  
Jamie imagined Claire’s soft but capable hands kneading away the tension, applying soothing salve to the abused and bruised skin. For a short while he immersed himself in this fantasy. For fantasy it was. Claire was gone. And he had no way of reaching her.

At this last thought, all dreams dissolved. The agony of their parting was as acute and raw as on the day his life effectively ended. The day he had sent her, and their unborn child, into the void.  
’Claire … Sassenach, _mo chrìdhe._ I …oh Christ, I need ye!’  
The tears streamed unchecked. He had not wept, through several beatings, at least another flogging and the loss of his comrades. Only for his godfather, Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser had he shed tears as his mentor had died in his arms at Culloden. 

There was no way of telling time in this place. The window was too small for him to see any stars. Unwillingly, he let himself sink into a fitful doze peopled by demons.  
The squeal of door hinges jolted Jamie into wakefulness. Two guards entered the cell, bearing a jug and bowl along with what looked to be a shirt and breeks. The larger of them spoke.  
‘Yer've to tidy yerself up. Governor wants to see yer.’  
‘Aye? And what if I’ve no wish to meet him?’  
‘Then it’ll be the worst for you, cully. Get a move on.’

A respite, however temporary, from isolation, was welcome, Jamie had to admit. Clad in the tattered and grimy shirt and breeks, his ankles still manacled, he readied himself for this interview. A shudder passed through him …  
_’Surely not …?'_

————————–

_The Governor,_  
Ardsmuir Prison,  
Ross-shire,  
Scotland. 

_Sir,_

_I am writing to you with a special request. I realise that you are in no way obliged to answer, but I wish to put  
forward my case, nevertheless._

_I was obliged to flee Scotland, and my husband, just prior to the battle of Culloden, as I was then enciente. I returned to  
England, and have made a new life with my daughter, who is now nine years of age._

_I have lately discovered that my husband, James Fraser, was sent to Ardsmuir Prison. Sir, could you ease my mind and heart and see your way to confirming that he is still alive? If he is, and under your jurisdiction, would you please tell him that his wife and daughter wait for him, and send our deepest affection?_

_I will understand if you cannot oblige me, but if you can, I will be forever grateful to you._

_Yours most respectfully,_

_Claire Fraser (Mrs),_  
Ambledene Cottage,  
Lainthwaite,  
Cumberland. 

_23rd June, 1756'_

John Grey, read and re-read the letter which lay, like a broken butterfly, on his desk. He had had many such missives so far during his short tenure as governor of Ardsmuir. This, though, was out of the common way. Something familiar tickled at the back of his mind. ‘Claire Fraser …’ The name meant little to him, other than the commonality of a surname with his most notorious inmate, Red Jamie, Seumas Ruaidh, James Fraser.  
‘Good God!’ He peered closer at the letter. 'It is her. It must be, unless the scoundrel took on another doxy.’ He rang a small bell, summoning his majordomo.  
‘Tell me, has the messenger departed?’  
‘No, sir. He’s having supper before resting in quarters for the night.’  
'Send him to me after he’s finished.'

————————–

Jamie Fraser, flanked by guards, waited outside the governor’s office. Despite the chill corridor, he felt a trickle of sweat down his back. He was not afraid of death, only the manner of it. He had died, partially at least, at Wentworth. Claire had brought him back to life, warming his soul and restoring him. He had died, metaphorically, when he had sent her to Frank Randall, the descendent of the brother of his nemesis, Jonathan Wolverton Randall. Had Randall, despite the evidence of Jamie’s own eyes, risen from the boneyard that was Culloden? The opening of the door brought him to the present. He was pushed into a room simply furnished with a desk, two chairs and a side table upon which sat a decanter and glasses.

A blond, slim, muscular man in his early thirties sat behind the desk.  
'You may leave the prisoner here. I shall summon you directly.’ The governor dismissed Jamie’s attendants. 'Please sit, Fraser. I am John Grey, appointed with the charge of this place.’  
'If ye wouldna mind, sir, I would rather stand.’ Jamie squared his shoulders as he eyed the other man warily. Grey nodded.  
'As you wish, though I have something of importance to discuss - no, rather, ask you.’  
'I don't think I have anything of interest to say that ye dinna already ken. Sir.’  
Grey smiled slightly. 'Well, I beg to differ. I have had a most interesting letter. It concerns yourself …’  
'It is nothing to me. If ye are to hang me in the next few days, then such a letter is not so important, aye?’ Jamie glared at John Grey. He was tired of cat and mouse games. The governor’s next words were as a claymore blow:  
'The letter is from one, Claire Fraser. The lady claims to be your wife.’

Jamie stared at Grey, for once bereft of coherent thought or speech. A feeling akin to an earth tremor passed through his entire body, making him shake visibly. The chain constraining his ankles rattled as if in portent of something not of this world.  
Grey, alarmed at the Scotsman’s reaction, moved to pour a generous measure of wine into one of the glasses which flanked the decanter.  
‘Sit, Fraser. Here, take this’ He thrust the wineglass into Jamie’s unresisting hand. Jamie, however, continued in stunned silence, neither moving nor speaking.

‘I gather this news is unexpected. May I ask whether or not it is welcome?’ Grey attempted again to bring the other man to some form of sentience.  
'Aye. Aye to both questions.’ Jamie seated himself across from Grey; his voice sounded strained, raw. He was perplexed, afraid and elated in turns. He sipped at the wine, feeling its warmth spread through his body. For so many years he hadn’t wished to feel, to think, to be. And now? What if the letter was a trap, or worse, some terrible joke played upon him by an unfeeling world? He strove to regain composure. He would not succumb to anything which could endanger his - or Claire’s souls.

John Grey surveyed Jamie; despite being filthy and clad in rags, the man had an undeniable presence. Yes, he was tall, with a commanding deportment. It was not these outward things, however. Fraser had self-knowledge without self-conceit. And, he hid nothing as he gazed upon the letter with a desperate longing. Grey felt a sharp jag of jealousy towards Claire Fraser, that she could ignite such lambent passion in those slanted blue eyes.  
'Do ye know for certain that the letter is from … my wife? Only the slight hesitation betrayed Jamie’s need.  
'I asked the same of the messenger who brought it. He said she had overheard him mention Ardsmuir as she went about her business in the village where she lives. She prevailed upon him to carry the message to me. Of course …’

'Did he describe her? How she looked, spoke? Is she …?’ Jamie halted at Grey’s gesture.  
'Oh yes. Very winsome, he said. Slender, with flowing brown hair, curling all about. Her skin like milk. Seems he is quite enamoured,’ Grey chuckled, before stopping as he noted Jamie’s clenched fists. 'My apologies. I am merely my messenger’s messenger, so to speak.’  
'Could I perhaps see the letter, sir? I would recognise the writing.’ Jamie was aware of a note of pleading in his voice; at this stage he cared little. To have his hopes lifted beyond his dreams, only to have them dashed would be torture, but it would be only another pain to be borne.

'Of course.’ Grey handed the letter to Jamie before watching with interest as to his prisoner’s reaction. He was not prepared for what unfolded before his eyes.  
At first, Fraser scanned the missive, taking in salient details. Then, he read slowly, his lips moving as though savouring each word. Once or twice, he paused, breathing deeply, before continuing. It was as he reached the signature that the dam broke.  
Clutching the paper to his chest, Jamie bent his head as he wept soundlessly. Only his shoulders moved with the force of his emotions.

 _’Mo chrìdhe, mo leannan. Sorcha, mo nighean donn,’_ he whispered. 'May God preserve ye and our bairn, _mo gràidh.’_ Jamie swiped at his eyes, displacing rivulets of tears. He gave the letter a final, despairing look before replacing it on the desk.  
'She is indeed your wife?’ Grey tried to keep his voice neutral.  
'Aye. But,’ Jamie heaved a breath, 'I dinna know what good my knowing can do, since I’m to hang.’  
'Hang?’ Grey was surprised. 'What gives you such a notion?’  
'There canna be any other reason to remove me from a cell where I have been kept for three years, only to chain me up in another with only the rats for company. I thank ye for apprisin’ me of my wife and child’s good health, but I wouldna like to be the one writin' to her in a few days time to tell her of my sudden demise.’ Jamie rose, to his feet, spent by the strain of the past hour. Besides, he wanted to be alone. To think. To dream of Claire. 

'It’s evident you are overwrought.’ Grey’s tone was cold. 'By rights, you should be punished for insolence at the very least. As the hour grows late, I shall exercise clemency - this time. However, I will speak with you tomorrow. You are dismissed.’  
He rang the bell on his desk, and the guards returned.  
Jamie was escorted from the room; as he left, he threw a last, longing glance at the precious letter which Grey was now perusing anew.

Once alone, he felt the darkness close around him, only relieved by the imagined touch of Claire’s soft hand upon his feverish brow.  
'My love. May the Holy Lord Jesus keep ye safe. I do fear for ye, my own. Why did ye not go to safety as I told ye?’


End file.
